Productive Yelling
by MsWarbird
Summary: Santana loves yelling at people, especially the unsuspecting administrators at her daughter's elementary school. She pushed a kid, they say? Nope, they were moving too slow. They were obviously in her way.


Rated T because Santana uses a lot of big, bad words in her thoughts.

**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone that reviewed, favorite-d, and followed my last story. That was the first time I had written any fanfiction, and I was not expecting any reviews at all. I'm tempted to respond individually to each one, but then this A/N would be gigantic and that's not really what you're here to read, but please know that I definitely appreciate all your comments. They're a huge boost of confidence and the main motivation to keep writing.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee or any of the characters involved in this story, except Alba and Cruz.

* * *

Santana loves yelling at people; it thrills her to the very core of her soul.

There's nothing better than waking up in the morning and knowing that, not only is she going to get to see and spend time with her kickass family, she's also going to get to go to work and yell a string of profanities at people and, wait for it… Get paid for it.

_Fantastic._

If Coach Sylvester were to see her now, she knows the woman would be smiling proudly at her. Well, not smiling. Scowling. Coach would be scowling proudly at her as she watched Santana practically reduce willing customers to tears.

That kind of sounds wrong.

No, Santana isn't a dominatrix or anything shady like that. She admits, however, that her inherently dominating personality and her flawless complexion would guarantee that she would be an extraordinary dominatrix.

_Except with Brittany. Who's the top then?_

That doesn't matter. Her point being, she's not a dominatrix. Better, she's a personal trainer.

"You call those push-ups?" She places her foot on a man's back, pushing down hard. "Those flabs aren't going to lift themselves! Come on now, you're breaking my balls here. Twenty more just because you piss me off!"

A _great_ personal trainer. The man underneath her foot has been coming back for about three weeks now; never mind the fact that he leaves the gym crying every single time.

Technically, Santana owns the gym. Okay, not technically. She does. She owns the whole fucking building. Planet Snix. The motto: _Serious business_. Simple, clean, to the point. It's how she runs the place, how she expects her employees to act, and just generally how she gets shit done. It had been an incredibly surprising career choice to every single one of her friends and family members, but damn it, it's an undeniable fact that she is incredibly fucking successful.

She had gone to college chasing her dreams of fame and stardom in the music industry, but two semesters in, she just didn't feel it anymore. Brittany had asked her why, of course. Santana had simply told her the truth. Yes, she loved singing, but it was more something she did for fun. She really didn't see herself going around singing in grand shows and tours knowing she'd be away from home—from _Brittany_, every single time. Her then girlfriend had flashed her a curious smile, kissed her cheek, and the next morning she'd greeted Santana with about twenty different websites and a pile of pamphlets exploring new options.

At the time, nineteen-year-old Santana had only been sure of three things: her undying love for Brittany S. Pierce, her steadfast devotion to BreadstiX, and her ever-growing need for money. She _really_ needed money. She and Brittany lived in the tiniest, shittiest apartment in North America. Her girlfriend deserved better. Brittany deserved the world, really, but a better apartment was a good place to start. So Santana chose to major in Business. Money, money, money. She quickly learned to love that, too.

She'd bought the old gym on a giant impulse. She was still in grad school at the time, but it was just too tempting. And with Brittany's fervent encouragement, Santana had quickly become the proud owner of one big, piece-of-shit building.

Countless renovations later, she'd finally built a massive business for herself… That she quickly grew weary of. Sitting behind a desk and crunching numbers all day got to be terribly boring. The decision to finally step out of the office and into workout gear had been, surprisingly, Tina's idea.

_You're so tense and angry, all the time. _Tina had told her._ Why not put it to good use?_

That had been the only good idea Tina had ever had in her entire life. All of her other ideas sucked horribly (no matter what she may say in the contrary), and usually ended up with Santana somehow injured.

She turns her attention back to her latest victim, intent on taking out her frustrations on the unfortunate man.

"Is this what you want?" She presses her foot down harder. "To be a miserable wimp the rest of your life? Come on, you're barely sweating. Pick up the pace or I'm having you run ten miles right after this."

The man underneath tenses and doubles his efforts. Santana doesn't know his name (she thinks it starts with a "K" but she isn't totally sure), but she really dislikes him. The bastard had waved her off the first day he came into the gym, wishing to speak only to the best trainer in the whole place.

Needless to say, Santana had effectively silenced the pompous moron with her vicious, vicious words. He had left that first evening sobbing loudly and signing up for an extra three appointments.

"Alright, alright. Enough of your wheezing. Flop over, on your back." She stands by the man's trembling feet and glowers down at him. "Stop panting, this is just warm-up. How do you expect to get in shape, huh?" She sighs dramatically. "One hundred sit-ups. Now! Come on, lazyass!"

Santana takes a moment to appreciate the various sounds of pain and exhaustion all around her, before looking around the room. Pride fills her chest as she sees several of her employees berating quivering customers around them. The other trainers weren't as harsh as her. Definitely not, but that didn't mean they were easy, either. She chose only hardened, strengthened individuals that went around beating people up and taking names, not giving a single fuck in the process. People much like herself, really.

"Hey, you're doing a great job, Brenda. Keep up the good work!"

Except Sam Evans.

Santana turns around, a tired frown already adorning her face. She instantly spots the ridiculously blond head of hair belonging to her oldest employee. The man is leaning against a treadmill, smiling brightly at the older woman running on it.

"Awesome, only five more minutes and you can take a quick break. Come on, push through! Almost there!"

_Fucking Trouty Mouth._

Back when Planet Snix was at shit mode, Sam had begged Santana for a job. He had recently gotten fired, and Santana had felt compassionate on that particular day. Plus, she had absolutely no idea how to run a gym, she kind of supposed Sam would know how to do that. He did, obviously, and his stupid smiling face had been a permanent staple of her everyday life ever since that unfortunate day.

She kind of regrets it sometimes. Like right now.

_Serious Business. This is a serious gym. For serious workouts. Led by serious trainers. What the hell doesn't he understand about that?_

Apparently nothing, because he'd had the nerve to suggest a "family fun workout session" last month. Santana shot it down quickly, wanting to avoid the stupid smile that would erupt on his stupid face as he explained all of his stupid ideas. He'd even mentioned an inflatable bouncer. Santana was horrified.

But then it had somehow reached Brittany's ears (not really, she knew that damn Trouty Mouth had called her wife), and then Brittany had_ insisted_ she hold the special day. Well, her wife's methods of persuasion where unsurprisingly irresistible, and last weekend had officially been the first ever "Planet Snix Family Fun Day." It was a nightmare.

"Alright, Brenda! That's it!" Sam claps obnoxiously and hands the woman a towel. "You did great. Take fifteen minutes and we'll continue, okay?"

"Terrible," Santana growls. She looks down at the whimpering man and glares at him. "Go home, we're done for today."

"But… But I still have… Still have thirty minutes…" He pants.

"You can't even breathe anymore." She rolls her eyes and begins walking away. "Go home, man. You stay and you'll pass out. I don't want that in my gym. Get out."

Santana ignores the huffing behind her and stomps her way over to a still smiling Sam. As soon as he sees her his smile widens. It really pisses Santana off.

"What did I say about your cheerfulness, Trouty? Hmm?"

"Come on, Santana. Brenda's had a bad day. She was just telling me about how her husband lost his job and she's been taking it really hard—"

"Stop being so fucking nice, damn it!" Santana explodes.

Sam raises his hands in defense. "I was just trying to help! She looked like she needed a break and…" He trails off, taking note of her deepening scowl and wisely deciding to stop talking.

Santana stares at him for a few seconds. Her voice is frighteningly calm when she speaks next. "You know I've had about fifteen new applicants this week?"

His eyes brighten. "Santana, that's great!"

"No. No it's not. They're all from last weekend. They all want to," she raises her fingers mockingly. "Get active and fit with their whole family." She lowers her hands and glares some more. "Those are really not my target customers, Evans."

Sam frowns, scratching the back of his head. "Why not, though? They're willing to pay. I honestly don't see the problem, Santana."

If she wasn't such an illustrious, dignified woman she'd smack herself in the face right now.

_Damn this dude is dumb._

"Because, Samuel. I don't like them."

"That's it? That's why?" He raises an eyebrow. "Brittany thought it was a good idea."

For some reason that makes Santana about twenty thousand times angrier. She doesn't really know why, but the idea of fucking Sam Evans constantly going behind her back to try and persuade her by using Brittany feels like a gigantic bitch move. Mostly because it's a foolproof way of getting her to agree to anything, and she's afraid Sam will figure that out and next month Planet Snix will begin featuring personal trainers wearing superhero costumes and speaking only in Na'vi. She shudders at the thought.

"Stop talking to my wife!" Santana clenches her jaw and forces herself to take a deep breath. "This is a losing battle. Alright, you know all those new sign-ups?"

He nods, unsure where this is going.

"They're all yours."

"What? Santana that's a lot of people, my days are already full, I can't be taking on new—"

"I don't care." She rubs her wrists in frustration. "Not my problem. Figure it out."

"But Santana, how am I supposed to accommodate all those people? No one else here will want to train them, and…"

Santana turns around and just walks away. "Figure it out, Evans. I made you partner for a reason. Do your job."

She stalks into her office, sighing loudly as she drops unceremoniously onto her couch. Sometimes she really wishes she could actually hate Sam. Then she could punch him in the face and not feel so bad about it like she usually does.

Twenty minutes later, Santana is already dozing off when her phone rings. Checking the caller ID, a tired smile graces her face when she sees Brittany's smiling face on her phone.

"Hey, babe."

"Hi, San. Sorry to interrupt if you're working, but Alba's school called. They want us to come over."

"Again?"

"The secretary told me she punched a boy in the face and was close to throwing him into a trash can when the teacher stopped her."

Santana is so fucking proud of her daughter, it's unreal.

_My baby. Five years old and already beating people up. I've taught her well._

"I'll be right over. You on your way?"

"Yeah, there's not much going on here at work, so I'm just taking the rest of the day. I'll see you at school, okay? Love you, drive safe."

"You too, Britt."

Santana bounces excitedly from the couch. She changes her shirt and grabs her stuff before practically running out of her office. She quickly tells Sam she's taking the day off and runs to her car. She not-so-secretly loves these kinds of calls, and after a rather frustrating day, she feels like this is the perfect opportunity to let off some steam

Because Santana loves yelling at people, especially the unsuspecting, good-for-nothing administrators at her daughter's elementary school.

* * *

"So as you can see, Mrs. and Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, Alba's conduct is getting significantly worse, and I am now considering a possible suspension."

Santana covers her mouth as she yawns tiredly. Brittany made her promise to not interrupt the poor principal until after he was done talking. It's been fifteen minutes. Man, this guy can talk.

"She is out of control. She pushes her classmates around all the time. It's unacceptable."

"She's a hyperactive kid. The other kids move too slow for her, you can't blame her for being in a hurry." Santana shakes her head, unsure why they're even discussing this a second time. "Either way, she's been properly punished for those offenses. My wife and I are not here to discuss that, are we? In this situation that's irrelevant." She rolls her eyes in annoyance.

Brittany sighs next to her. "Mr. Banger we apologize for Alba's behavior, but from what I heard her teacher say, this time she was only responding to the other boy's teasing."

_Oh, sweet Brittany. Why are you being so nice to this imbecile?_

Santana stares at the balding man in mild disgust. His last name, combined with his prominent bushy moustache and wide sideburns make her instantly think of an 80's porn star. Which is repulsive, because this is her daughter's principal, and she'd rather not think about vintage pornography when in his presence.

"Well, yes. Teasing, only verbal teasing. Alba responded by punching him and then dragging him toward a trash can. You can see, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, how this would be a problem?" He asks, his voice lowering condescendingly.

And Santana instantly hates him even more. He hates when people take it upon themselves to act like complete and total assholes to her wife. She fucking hates that this prick thinks he can treat Brittany like she's dumb and play it off as being a concerned principal. She clenches her fist and cracks her neck, knowing she can easily jump across his desk and punch him in the face, but she knows Brittany would really not appreciate that. Instead she looks at her wife, waiting for her response.

"I understand that, Mr. Banger. What I don't get is why you're just ignoring the fact that it is the same boy that is constantly picking on Alba every single day." Brittany raises a single eyebrow in challenge. "Are you going to overlook _that_ problem?"

Santana smirks. An almost-angry Brittany is so damn hot. She looks at the squirming man, daring him to try insulting Brittany again.

The man rubs his face and sighs. "No, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, we're not ignoring that. We've taken it into consideration, of course, but that doesn't erase the fact that Alba hit him just because he was hurling some words at her. We don't condone that kind of behavior."

"But you're okay with a boy calling my daughter hurtful names?" Brittany narrows her gaze. "I talked to your secretary on my way here. She mentions hearing him call Alba a certain 'B' word when she was separating their fight."

"What?" Santana springs forward from her slouching position. "That kid called my daughter _what_!?"

The principal instantly backtracks. "Well, we're not entirely sure, now. This is all speculation."

"Speculation?" Santana's voice rises even more as the principal shrinks in his seat. She glances warily to her right and instantly catches Brittany's gaze. Her wife shakes her head in warning.

_Damn it. Why won't Brittany let me kill this bastard?_

Santana sighs in frustration before turning back to look at Mr. Banger. "Either way, that kid insulted Alba first. The whole day, apparently. If none of your staff was able to stop that, then how did you expect her to react?"

"You see, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez… Santana, may I call you Santana?"

"No, you may not." She curls her lip in disgust.

The principal clears his throat awkwardly. "Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, Kyle is a… He's a special case, you see? The administration was informed that his parents are going through a harsh divorce, and—"

"Excuse me?" Santana clears her throat and squints her eyes slightly. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Well, I want you to understand why we're handling this situation the way we are. At this moment, he could very well be considered an 'at-risk' student. That's why we're being careful in the way we—"

"So, in other words, special treatment?" Santana snarls.

Brittany shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She struggles to keep her voice leveled. "Mr. Banger, no matter what he may be going through, he's the one that was pretty much taunting Alba all day. Neither of them is innocent, so I don't see why you're only threatening our daughter with suspension."

"Alba physically _assaulted_ him, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez. We can't have her terrorizing _all_ of her classmates now, can we? Especially not the ones currently at risk!"

_This piece of shit. Did he just raise his voice against Brittany?_

It's too late now. What used to be a tiny spark burning inside Santana's chest has now expanded into a motherfucking conflagration. There's no turning back now.

Santana looks to her wife once more. This time Brittany raises an eyebrow and shrugs, nodding her confirmation. Instantly, she turns to face the man fully, her face void of any emotion and her voice eerily calm.

"Assaulted him, you say? I happen to know that the other kid is almost twice her size. Don't bullshit me, Banger."

The principal clears his throat nervously. "That wasn't my intention at all. I am only pointing out that Alba already has a large history of bullying in this school. She's constantly pushing people, and insulting her classmates, and now this—"

"Enough!" Santana leans forward in her seat menacingly, smirking when the man recoils. "We have personally come to a few members of this sorry excuse for an administration before, complaining about the fact that my daughter comes home and tells us how many insults and snide comments she receives herself. Nothing has ever been done about it."

"That wasn't nice, Mr. Banger. You're not doing a very good job." Brittany adds casually, mocking him in her own way. Santana's smirk grows.

"Marcus. I'm just going to call you Marcus." The principal looks like he's going to dare interrupt her before Santana cuts him off. "The only reason why you're still sitting where you are, _employed_, is because my wife and I didn't feel it was actually necessary to actually file a report against your staff. The superintendent, however, has already been informed of all the _shit_ you pull here, but we weren't worried about Alba too much." She chuckles darkly. "You've met my daughter, I'm sure you can figure out why that is."

A look of fear crosses the principal's face, before he squirms awkwardly in his desk. He swallows with difficulty and clears his throat. "What was that?"

Santana smirks. If this dude thinks he can get away with all the crap he's done by playing dumb he might even be stupider than fucking Finn Hudson (and that's saying something, because Santana is pretty sure that pyramid nipples has a negative I.Q. score).

"The point here being, Marcus, that my daughter might not be completely guilt-free in this situation, but after a full day of getting teased by this same kid, I'm impressed she didn't do anything worse. You should understand this, though. I'm sure your years in school weren't the easiest, huh?" She fakes a compassionate little smile. "The difference is that Alba isn't the type to sit back and take it."

The nervous principal takes a few seconds to compose himself. When he finally speaks, his voice is a few octaves higher and shaky, trying to sound brave. "Well, if you're trying to raise a delinquent, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, I'm afraid I won't have her at my school."

_Ha. So he does have balls? Too bad I'm about to fucking crush them under my foot._

Santana turns to Brittany, her wife's eyes are wide and her jaw is clenched. Santana gives Brittany a decisive look and the blonde quickly returns it.

Her wife smacks her lips and looks at the principal with pity. "Well, Mr. Banger, it was nice meeting you. Make sure to ice every fifteen minutes, I've heard that helps sometimes."

Brittany stands up quickly, pats her wife's shoulder and exits the office. Behind her, Santana can hear her talking to Alba, probably convincing her to wait elsewhere, the sounds of murder would probably resonate down the hallway in a few minutes.

_My daughter may be a tiny badass, but she's way too young to hear all the colorful profanities that are going to single-handedly massacre the man in front of me._

Santana turns back to a now very worried principal. The man is considerably more pale and panicky. She cracks her knuckles in front of her before standing, towering above the terrified man.

"Well, Marcus, now you're fucked.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Santana busts out the front doors of Alba's now _former_ school. The reddening knuckles in her left hand and the triumphant smirk on her face tell a rather calm, underrated version of the ordeal she leaves behind.

She instantly spots her wife and daughter standing next to Brittany's car. The sound of the doors closing behind her cause both heads of blonde hair to raise almost instantly. Alba smiles cautiously at her while Brittany smirks slightly, shaking her head in amusement.

"So we start looking for a new kindergarten this weekend?" Brittany calls out to her.

Santana just smiles awkwardly in response.

_Yeah, no way can Alba go back there ever again._

As soon as she's within reach, her daughter approaches her, wringing her hands nervously and scuffing her tiny sneakers on the pavement.

"Mama?" Alba's worried brown eyes look up at her. "You mad at me?"

Santana smiles internally before kneeling in front of the little girl. "About standing up for yourself? No. I'm not mad about that. About punching that kid in the face? Well," she pauses, frowning in thought. "Actually, no. I'm not really mad about that either."

A sharp kick to her left ankle makes her quickly rethink her statement. Brittany clears her throat and narrows her eyes at her. Santana sighs.

"Okay, yeah. I guess I am kind of mad about that." She grabs her daughter's fidgeting hands. "Disappointed, really. You know how your mom and I feel about violence."

Alba instantly lowers her head, looking at the ground as she speaks. "I'm sorry. He was really mean, though."

"We know, baby." Brittany grips Alba's tiny shoulders protectively. "But even then. There are always other ways to solve problems like that."

Alba's face twists with confusion and she pouts. "Like what? The teacher lady didn't do anything when I told on him."

Santana's face falls. She kind of wants to go back into that building and find that stupid Mrs. What's-her-face and kick her in the face. She quickly remembers, however, that last weekend she had seen the awful woman at the "Family Fun Day."

_Never mind what I said to Trouty. Her ass is mine… In the non-sexual, violent vengeance kind of way._

Pleased with her formulating plans, she focuses on her daughter once more. She knows the little girl expects an actual answer, and honestly, Santana really doesn't have one. At her age, she'd already been used to getting into fights. It was pretty much second nature to fight her way out of problems. What could she say now?

Brittany breaks the momentary silence. "You could've stolen all his green crayons. Blue trees look ridiculous."

_I fucking love my wife._

Santana smiles up at Brittany in thanks and bends lower to scoop their daughter in her arms, kissing her cheek.

"Maybe the yellow ones, too. Can't have a sunny day without them, right?"

Alba giggles at Santana's statement and grabs a loose strand of her mother's hair in her hand. After only a short moment she looks up at Santana, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Mama, can we get ice cream?"

Next to her, Brittany chuckles. Santana looks to her for help but her wife only shrugs her shoulders, crossing her arms across her chest and smirking, waiting for Santana's response.

"Umm…" Santana shies away from Alba's direct gaze. She knows if she makes eye contact with the little blonde she's screwed. "No. This is a punishment."

"Please?" Alba squirms in her arms, trying to catch her eyes. "I promise I'll be sad while I'm eating it. I won't even get my favorite. I'll get vanilla, and you know I hate vanilla. It's boring."

"Santana, she'll be _sad_ while eating it. How can you say no to that?" Brittany taunts.

"It's impossible to be sad while eating ice cream, don't trick me." Santana responds. She's not sure who she's addressing at this point, really.

Santana swears both of them are somehow trying to manipulate her. She regrets the fact that it seems to be working. Damn her weakness for pretty blondes.

"No sprinkles!" Alba pipes up. "I won't get sprinkles! Just boring vanilla, how can I be happy with that?"

Santana cringes slightly.

_Plain vanilla? Damn, she must really be desperate._

"Just go, Santana." Brittany pushes her wife forward. "Go. I'll pick up Cruz from Quinn's and meet you guys there."

Alba jumps excitedly in her arms. "Thank you, Mommy!"

"But Britt…" Santana protests weakly. "Punishment ice cream?"

Brittany smiles at her and gives both of her girls a quick kiss, before heading in the direction of her car. "It's a thing, honey. Get with the times!"

* * *

Two weeks later, Santana beams with happiness standing next to a treadmill watching a limping, shaking woman slowly make her way to the door.

"Bye Mrs. Carlisle! Make sure to ice!" Alba yells from her spot standing next to her mother.

Both are wearing similar clothes. Running shoes, black shorts, grey tops with a "Planet Snix" logo in the front. "Serious Business" flashes boldly on the backs of their t-shirts.

The exhausted Mrs. Carlisle waves her hand dismissively behind her, muffled sobs coming from her as she finally leaves the gym.

Santana smirks. Today, had been Mrs. What's-her-face's appointment. Today, Santana had managed to reduce the woman to tears of blood.

With Alba's help, of course. After a two-hour session, her daughter had demonstrated that she too shared the same passion for yelling. Santana had smiled proudly at her beloved offspring.

"You two finally done?" An amused voice calls out from behind them.

Santana turns around and smiles as she sees Brittany walking toward them. A tiny, two-year-old boy with brown curls bouncing happily in her wife's arms.

"Yep! I don't think she's coming back though." Alba looks up at Santana dejectedly. "Sorry, mama. I think I lost you a customer."

Brittany scoffs. "I don't really think she minds too much, baby."

"Nah. It's all good." Santana chuckles. "You guys ready to get out of here?"

"I got all of Cruz's toys and an extra set of clothes for both of you." Brittany nods her head and readjusts her son in her arms. "Let's go."

"Sweet." Santana reaches down and grabs Alba's hand. "Time to finally go home!"

"Mama, can we get ice cream again?" Alba's face lights up.

Santana sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. It's happening again, she can feel the manipulation already.

"Come on, San. Your daughter wants ice cream."

"Me too! Me too!" Cruz pipes up, squirming in excitement.

"And now so does your son." Brittany smiles at her wife and walks ahead of her.

"Yes! Can I get sprinkles this time? And no vanilla! Ever!"

The family starts heading for the exit. Santana hangs her head in defeat. That took less than ten seconds. She can practically hear stupid Quinn making that ridiculously inaccurate whipping sound and winking at her with that stupid smirk she always flashes her.

Sometimes Santana wishes she wasn't such a pushover. But then she sees her wife and two kids walking next to her, smiling at the prospect of ice cream and she can't help but be infected with their content.

As she's holding the door open for her wife, however, Santana hears the one thing that is sure to make her frown and step into the gym once again.

"Brenda! That's fantastic! Keep going, you're almost there!"

That stupid cheery voice once again destroys Santana's happy mood.

"Evans! What did I say!?"

* * *

**A/N:** The gym I used to go to was pretty extreme, so Planet Snix came from that idea, but in my mind it is exaggerated to have a similar vibe to Globo Gym (from the movie Dodgeball). I really don't know why, but just picture the ridiculousness of placing a cheery Sam Evans among the hardcore, ultra-serious trainers shown in the movie. Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
